


First Dates

by thatsthephan



Category: Phandom, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Board Games, Cute, Drabble, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsthephan/pseuds/thatsthephan
Summary: The thought of the lads and their friends playing this game is too funny not to write about it.





	First Dates

**Author's Note:**

> This one won first place in the poll by a large margin, so here it is! It will also be my first fic since February, so I hope y’all like it. Comments are always appreciated, and I have three more fics in progress if you’d like to request something to be in those as well:) Enjoy!

“A coming home party? You realize we’ve only been gone for less than a week, right?”

Phil shrugged, not seeming to see the significance. He kept tapping at his phone, the clicks of his keyboard nearly audible from the speed, but he was trying to hide a smile. “Oh well, explain that to everyone who’s throwing us a surprise party.”

“It’s not a surprise if-”

“Shhhh!”

So here I was, fancied up for a dinner party that I “had no idea about”. That was being thrown at our flat, Phil informed me on the lift ride back from our “date”. We’d gone window shopping.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll love it.”

“It’s still ridiculous.”

We were still bickering when Phil unlocked the door, the lights turned off and everyone as silent as they could be. I imagined that Bryony had already started the rounds of shots, as she yelled “SURPRISE!” a beat before the rest. The best part was that they all somehow bought my shocked expression. Maybe I could make it as an actor.

The shots were good, I gave them--mostly PJ and Bryony, the self-proclaimed bartenders of the night--that much. We were all well and tipsy when Phil headed for the game shelf, which was for the best. We needed the nice, comforting weight of intoxication in order to play any of those games.

“Nooooo,” Bryony whined, leaning heavily on Wirrow’s shoulder. “Not the games! Not the games!”

“Yes the games!” Phil called back, scanning the shelf for the perfect torture device. “Anyone ever played First Dates?”

Only Phil and I had, so it was a must for the night. PJ declared the winners got to down the rest of the vodka and the losers got to clean up in the morning. We decided that was fair.

The rest was a blur.

Round 1  
“Team namesss,” Bryony whispered loudly, barely letting Phil set the game up first. 

“Ooooh, yes!” Sophie agreed, and thus commenced five straight minutes of three couples deciding on the perfect team names for a board game. Yes, we were all adults. Phil had created a monster.

“Best name starts out three points ahead.” I raised an eyebrow; PJ rolled his eyes.

“Sweet.” Bryony nodded in approval, twirling a piece of her hair smugly. “We’re Team Wirrony, obvs.”

We boo-ed them for unoriginality, but of course all eyes turned to Phil and I next. 

“Phan?” Wirrow snickered, and I threw a crisp at him.

“Lesterine. Like the mouthwash.”

We earned that round of applause-Phil had wanted Dil Pickles, for Christ’s sake.

“And Pofie for us,” PJ took a shot, and the game commenced.

Bryony cleared her throat. “Right, so let’s start with the unassuming hosts of the evening-’who would taste better’?”

Some snickers, a few moments of contemplation, and we had our answers. It was 2-1 disagree, and…

“Ha! Agree on Dan, Wirrony gets the points.” Phil was smirking a little too flirtatiously, so I chimed in with, “It’s only because he’s a secret cannibal.”

“Kinky.” Wirrow nodded appreciatively. “So our turn next?”

We played a few rounds of “starter”, one of our questions being ‘who can down a pint the fastest’.

“Please,” Bryony rolled her eyes, writing her answer down already. “You’re all amateurs.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” Phil snickered, writing his answer down as well. “Ever seen Dan drink when he’s sad?”

Everyone laughed at my expense, but no one believed him. We had all disagreed anyway, so the only obvious thing to do now was to crown a true winner. 

Bryony poured us each a pint, starting a countdown. “Five, four, three, two, DRINK!”

I slammed my glass on the table in six seconds flat, making PJ nearly choke from laughter on his beer. Everyone else stared at me in awe, Phil, Sophie, and PJ not even finishing their drinks.

“What made you think-” I hiccupped. “-that you could ever swallow something faster than me?”

The room was in an uproar, and it was only just round two.

Round Two  
“Champagne for midnight and the main course?” Bryony became more extravagant as she drank, and somehow made some very good, very bubbly pink champagne. 

“Lesterine, you’re up!” PJ simply got more giggly as the night went on, which had an effect on Phil in that he kept trying to subtly tickle me.

“Who is more likely to be sporting a vajazzle or a pejazzle?”

We all snickered in thought, but eventually Phil whispered, “a what?”, except the whole table heard, and everyone was very colorful in their explanations. At least he got an answer, I supposed.

“So it’s all for agree?” I smirked. “On who?”

“You, duh, ya freak.” Wirrow rolled his eyes, but Phil and I shrugged, flipped our cards, and the table was outraged.

“Why Phil! He didn’t even know what it was!” Bryony actually sounded angry, but I knew she was just competitive. And just a tad bit drunk.

“Because he had that back jewelry thing. And I would never.” I pretended to be offended, but honestly it was more fun just getting them riled up. After all, I was a chaotic neutral.

We went through a few more--Phil and I racking up points and sexual tension alike--but Bryony and Wirrow were in close second. Out of the six of us, Bryony and I were the most competitive, and someone started up a bet on who would win. Sophie and Wirrow had their money on us, while Bryony and PJ decided on Bryony, with the assistance of Wirrow.

“Bitches,” Phil murmured, or tried to murmur. He didn’t seem to realize he was speaking in a completely normal tone. I made a mental note of it being kind of cute.

“Okay!” I announced, rubbing the card between my hands. “Second to last for the main course-who already has, or is more likely to get a terrible tattoo?”

Unbelievably, none of the couples agreed on an answer. We decided to split the points between everyone who had the most common answer, which was PJ.

“Where’s that logic!” PJ pretended to pout, but three out of six of us has chosen him for a reason.

“You’re very random and it just makes sense,” Wirrow rolled his eyes, gesturing at PJ’s everything. “It would be like an alien or something equally lame though.”

The final question was ‘who would win in a fight’. Every team but Pofie agreed on Bryony.

“Thank you!” she giggled, sticking her tongue out at PJ. “I may be tiny but I’ll kick your ass.”

 

“Who else would win?” I asked Sophie, who now seemed embarrassed to say. “We said Phil,” she rolled her eyes. “But to our defense, he is scrappy.”

“Scrappy?!”

Round Three  
“Ladies and gents,” Bryony was swaying gently as she stood, having a lot of fun for someone who hadn’t wanted to play this game at all. “Team Us is beating the mouthwash lads, so place your final bets now.”

I threw ten pounds in for the hell of it, obviously on me and Phil. “We're soulmates, remember?” I winked, throwing an arm over Phil's shoulder. None of our friends had called us that in a good while, and everyone seemed a tad bit surprised at my declaration. I'd been poking fun at Bryony all night for being wasted, but I didn't handle alcohol well myself. 

“Alrighty y'all,” PJ did a bad accent of sorts, pulling a card out of the deck with a flourish. “Who is more likely to be slightly aroused right now?”

I think we'd all sort of forgotten how to play the game, as by now we were just answering for all three teams. The odds of any of us agreeing were slim, however everyone somehow agreed on this one. 

“Did everyone say me?!”

I received a round of hoots and laughs as a response, and Phil was doing his best not to laugh at my astonishment. 

“Dan, hun,” Sophie tried to soften the blow, but couldn't hide the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “You're an open book when you're drunk.”

I stuck my tongue out, drawing the next card. “Whatever, y'all are cheating. Next questizzle-who would punch their mum in the head for 10,000 pounds?”

“What the fuck,” PJ snickered, writing quickly nonetheless. “That's sadistic.”

“Mm, but that's a lot of coint.”

The vote was almost unanimously Phil, the only answer differing was Phil's own. “I love my mum!” he protested, defeated. 

“Maybe so,” Bryony sipped her drink, raising the glass to Phil. “But you are the legendary Captia£ester.”

We played a few more rounds, Sophie and PJ wracking up some points, but we were in the lead at the final question. 

“All or nothing!”

“PHIL!”

Our cries of protest were in unison, but Phil was grinning broadly and informed us that it was not only tradition in this household, but it was his game and his rules.

“Bitch,” I whispered, pinching his leg. 

“You love me,” he retorted, drawing the last card.

“Who's better at faking an orgasm?”

“Who's better at an orgasm? What?” PJ was thoroughly confused, and no one wanted to tell him the real question. It was all or nothing, after all. 

“Snakes, all of you,” he shook his head as he wrote, throwing his pen at Phil when he was done. 

“So the question was who's better at faking one-” PJ sloppily hurled a pillow at Phil, who dodged it. “-reveal your answers!”

It took us all a second to read the responses, and I knew our neighbors were going to file a noise complaint for all the yelling that was ensuing. Bryony threw the remaining cards in our direction, almost actually pissed. “How did y'all agree on ME?!”

I answered, “You get bored of everything!” right as Phil giggled, “The rest of us are too easy.”

We totalled the points, or, PJ did. I slowly started sliding the remaining vodka toward me, receiving a stink eye from Bryony. 

“Yeah they won,” PJ shook his head, pushing the bottle toward me with his foot. I caught it as it started tipping over, raising it in a toast.

“I’d like to say thank you to PJ for suggesting these stakes, and Bryony for losing like a champ.” I deserved the facefull of cards I got for that one.

“You gonna share?” Phil had taken far fewer shots than I had, so I shrugged, handing him the bottle. “I’m tired, let’s go to bed. We can go get hangover breakfast in the morning.” 

Everyone agreed. I downed the remaining inch in the bottle, pulling Phil by his tshirt into our back bedroom. I had been telling the truth about being tired, but also I’d been hearing Phil’s deep intoxicated voice all night and hadn’t kissed him since this morning. So, I had valid reasons.

We’d barely shut the door behind us before I started kissing him, and I guessed he’d been waiting too, as he turned us around and pushed me up against the wall next to my dresser. He knew I liked when he did that, and I tugged at his hair, because I knew he liked when I did that. 

“Our friends think we’re gross,” Phil giggled breathlessly, hardly getting a word out between my mouth being on his. I didn’t answer, shushing him. “Don’t care”, I mumbled, and I didn’t.

Somewhere in that indeterminable amount of time, we ended up on the bed, our kisses slowing as we became sleepier. I had my head on Phil’s chest, slowly slipping into unconsciousness, when the thought crossed my mind that we were done. Done with the tour, done with traveling, done with expectations. We could play games and make videos as we wished, make our schedules whenever we wanted, go wherever we wanted. We were free. 

But that was the most coherent thought I had before I fell asleep, thinking about what a mess we made and how loud we’d been and how warm Phil was. Drunken thoughts were sometimes true after all.


End file.
